


mors tua vita mea

by memento_mori



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Hunger Games AU, M/M, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 04:42:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3368276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memento_mori/pseuds/memento_mori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Against all odds, Steven Rogers made it to eighteen years old, despite physical obstacles and devastating tragedies. Against all odds he managed to survive every winter, every food shortage, and even an accident that would change his life forever. Against all odds he managed to escape the death sentence of the arena.</p><p>But the odds had never really been in Steve Rogers' favor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	mors tua vita mea

**Author's Note:**

> The Reaping is held. Tributes are chosen. Lives are condemned. Tears are shed. Discussions are held.
> 
> Chapter title is Latin for "Deeds, not words".

Steve could hear his heart pounding furiously in his ears. The rush of blood was drowning out the sounds of the square. He could see the wide eyes and gaping jaws, he knew whispers and murmurs had spread throughout the crowd. He wasn’t surprised. No one from his District had ever volunteered before.

The eighteen year old took a deep breath to steel his nerves, straightening his back instinctively. He knew all cameras in the District would now be trained on him. Six never had any sort of interesting reaping. Steve knew the rest of Panem believed them to be an apathetic bunch; apathetic or too drugged to care. They didn’t see the strength of the silent suffering, never saw the steel that went into straight spines and hardened faces. Steve knew just how strong his people were, and he’d be damned before he gave them a poor representation.

In seconds the Peacekeepers clad in white were tugging on Steve’s arm, pulling him towards the stage as the pulled the eleven year old boy with wide eyes down. Steve tried to give him a reassuring grin - the only time he allowed his impassive expression to soften.

“It appears we have a volunteer!”

One would have to be well versed in everything Peggy Carter to discern the blatant sarcasm dripping from every accented word. His expression remained unchanging, but Steve mentally swallowed his smile, tiny though it would have been. He had spent an inordinate amount of time soaking up every precious second in Peggy Carter’s presence and could detect the scathing hatred in her words. But she was excellent at her job and managed to tell him exactly what she thought of his little stunt without appearing unprofessional.

“What’s your name soldier?”

This time Steve couldn’t contain the flinch. Peggy was furious and if he had reason to doubt that before, she had crushed any shred of doubt underneath her ridiculously pointy shoes. She knew what that descriptor would do to him; she wanted him to hurt, she wanted to shake him in front of all Panem and demand he rescind his foolish words. This was the only way she could.

“Steven Rogers.” He was remarkably proud that his voice managed to remain steady and unwavering. His gaze was focused straight ahead, never on one particular person. It was easier that way, it helped him forget that there were individuals out there in the crowd. It was easier to think of District Six instead of Connie the tavern girl, or Miss. Pinnock who owned the antique shop that should have closed years ago. When he thought of each of them panic surged up his body, gripping his heart painfully. He had to struggle to stave it off, taking several deep breaths, trying to steady himself. He knew as well as the next person that the Games began long before any arena was seen. The moment Steve shouted out those four words, offering himself as the sacrificial lamb in place of the terrified boy he had never spoken to before, the Games had begun for him. He could not appear weak in front of the cameras, not when he would have twenty-three other people analyzing his every move, looking for a weakness.

He barely registered as the national anthem played through the speakers. He remained stock still, a pillar of stone carved to be unyielding and unrepentant. He could feel Peggy’s eyes occasionally drifting to him, yet he ignored her with a determined focus. Though Steve didn’t chance a glance at the blonde female - Gwen Stacy - he could sense her own stoic determination. Steve had only encountered her a few times, yet he felt a surge of pride rush through him at her strength. He was certain B-someone would be smacking his head against the wall, insisting Steve think of the girl as his competition, but he couldn’t. She was the intelligent mechanic who worked on the trains and planes but occasionally accompanied Steve and his team on more dangerous duties, all for the chance to spend a few stolen hours with her boyfriend in Three.

Before his actions truly registered in his brain, Steve reached over and slipped his hand in Gwen’s, squeezing lightly. Neither turned their heads or averted their gazes, but after a few seconds Steve felt a soft returning pressure. He was certain he would curse his stupidity later, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it now, not when he could feel the barely perceptible tremble of Gwen’s hand.

In a blur of sound, movement, and people the tributes of District Six were ushered into the mayor’s house to say their goodbyes to any visitors that came to see them off. Steve didn’t expect his would take long; he was an orphan with no family. He was proved wrong however, when one of the Peacekeepers opened the door to admit the first person, and Steve caught sight of the line winding around the stairs. It appeared that nearly everyone in the District Steve had ever spoken to decided to pay him their respects. As Steve continued to speak to each person - only brief seconds before they were ushered out so hastily - the lump in his throat grew considerably more painful, making it harder to speak. By the time a frail towheaded woman threw herself into Steve’s arms, sobbing and clutching her eleven year old son - Theodore Altman his brain reminds him - he’s too choked up to speak. He can’t even beg her to stop thanking him, suffocating on the guilt as the woman and her son stare at him with unadulterated gratitude. A single second longer, and Steve worried he would become physically ill with the guilt.

Thankfully - God what kind of awful person was he, being thankful for the Peacekeepers? - the Altmans were escorted out, nearly dragged as Steve himself was tugged towards another door. He knew where he was going. He knew what this would mean. It had only been a year ago he stood where Theodore Altman was, thrashing about in the Peacekeeper’s arms, fighting his way to - no. He wasn’t going to think about that now. He couldn’t afford to.

The second Steve was pushed onto the train he was met with Peggy’s disgusted gaze. Against his will, his lips twisted into a semblance of a smile. “Hiya Pegs.” Steve said softly, eyes falling to the thick carpeting on the floor of the train. A luxury vehicle. He’d only been on one of these once before.

The smack that followed his greeting was not unexpected, but it stung painfully all the same. Still, Steve didn’t reach up to touch the bright red spot on his cheek. He continued to let his head hang in shame, unable to meet Peggy’s disappointed glare. He didn’t want to see the hurt he had caused in yet another person he cared about.

“Would he have wanted you to throw your life away like this?”

Steve winced, taking a sharp, painful intake of breath. Peggy didn’t hold back. She went straight for the gut punch, but Steve deserved nothing less.

“I couldn’t let them take Theodore Peggy. He was just a kid, he didn’t deserve to die.” If possible, Peggy’s glare grew fiercer and she took a step towards him. It was all Steve could do not to take a step back. In the past year his self imposed fitness regime - punishment Peggy had called it - set him a good hundred pounds heavier than her, and the treatment had caused him to shoot up, but all the physical changes in the world couldn’t make Steve fearless, and an angry Peggy Carter was a force to be reckoned with.

“And you think you deserve to die? That’s why you’re doing this after all. I knew the second you had an opportunity you were going to do something reckless and foolish! Do you not understand what you’re doing? Damn it Steve I believed in you! I thought - never mind what I thought. Can you not see the consequences of your actions? How could you just toss it all away like it means nothing?”

“How could he?”

The scream was torn from Steve’s lips before he realized what he was saying. He would have been surprised if Peggy had been able to tell what he was saying - it was a feral snarl wrapped in a scream, more primitive rage and pain than coherent words. It was everything Steve had bottled up and demanded for the past year, hurled at Peggy like an accusation. She froze, and after a second Steve’s shoulders slumped. Stumbling back, he leaned against the wall and slid to the ground, bowing his head once again. Above him he heard a sigh, and he heard rather than saw Peggy sit on the ground next to him, ladylike as ever.

“Steve he wouldn’t have wanted you to do this. You know that, he would have hated this.” Steve swallowed painfully, knowing that Peggy was right. Her voice was gentle but firm. “This is exactly what he didn’t want. What he gave his life to -”

“Don’t you dare.” Steve’s voice was ragged and harsh, and when he looked at Peggy he knew his eyes were full of pain. “Don’t you dare act like he did anything noble, or - or good by dying. Don’t you dare.”

Peggy pursed her lips, looking for all the world like she was about to deliver a lecture, but she sighed and seemed to think better of it. Good, the vicious part of Steve’s mind snarled. He wouldn’t let go of his anger any time soon. He wasn’t ready for it. As long as he had the anger, it made the pain and guilt just a little bit easier to deal with.

Closing his eyes, Steve forced himself away from the subject they were getting too close to, without ever really touching on.

“I’m not - I wasn’t going to volunteer Peggy.” His whispered the secret shamefully, unable to look the woman in the eyes. He didn’t know what he would find. Disappointment maybe, or relief. Or maybe both. He didn’t want to know. “I was - this was my last year. I didn’t want to enter the godforsaken Games.”

“But you didn’t want to live either.” Her words were stated as a fact rather than a question, and Steve simply shrugged, still refusing to meet the escort’s eyes.

“Theodore was picked.” He said simply. “He was just a kid. And he - I’ve seen him around the sqaure. With his friend. They’re - they’re close.” There was so much Steve was trying to say without opening old wounds, but it was impossible. “I couldn’t just - he was just a kid Peggs. And I’m just - I’m just a kid from Brooklyn.” He squeezed his eyes shut. Those six words held more pain than he even thought imaginable as he remembered the many winters he spent trying not to freeze to death in the roughest area of District Six.

“Steve, your life is worth just as much as Theodore’s. You can’t just try to hand that to them on a silver platter.”

The blonde sighed, too tired to continue arguing with Peggy. He shook his head, but managed a wry, pained grin directed her way.

“I’m not handing them anything Peggy. I volunteered, but I’m not planning on going down without a fight. I’m in the Games, and I’m going to need your help to get through them.”

Both were very aware that Steve didn’t ask for her help winning the Games. Both of them knew exactly what that entailed, and neither wanted to bring it up. Steve knew Peggy would do everything in her power to make sure Steve won them; just like she knew he would do everything in his power to protect everyone with little thought to himself.

Sighing, Steve forced himself to stand, extending a hand to Peggy, who ignored it, and got to her feet gracefully, brushing off invisible lint from her dress suit. They had their moment, but Steve knew moments alone with his escort would be far and few in between. Everyone knew that Chester Phillips would be the mentor for District Six. Everyone had thought this would be the year he retired, but everyone knew why he hadn’t. It made Steve’s stomach lurch unpleasantly.

“We should go meet Gwen and the Colonel.” His voice was soft, referring to the man who would be his mentor with the euphemism nearly everyone used in his presence. He was one of the oldest Victor’s in the Capitol, and certainly the oldest one still taking active participation in the Games. But Steve wouldn’t complain. He knew the man was a hardass, but he was good at what he did, and he would give sound advice. Steve was sure of it.

Peggy nodded stiffly, and Steve bit back a sigh. He knew she would never forgive him for volunteering, but he couldn’t blame her. The anger came from a place of pain, and he knew that all too well. But it was done, and there was no taking back the action now. He had made his decision and he would live or die by it.

He knew the odds of both.

* * *

 

Once again Steve and Gwen were holding hands tightly, and once again the gesture was to comfort the both of them. Steve could practically feel Peggy’s glare, and the Colonel’s lip curling in disgust at the exchange, but he paid them no mind, his eyes completely fixated on the screen ahead of him, memorizing each face.

Brock Rumlow, District One. He was large and looked lethal. He didn’t appear to be as built as Steve had become over the course of the year, but he had no doubt the other one would be his fiercest competitor. He was paired with Sinthea Schmidt, who looked every bit as deadly as she did beautiful.

Hodge and Mystique from District Two made Steve take a deep breath, as if mentally preparing himself for the trials ahead. There was something about the redheaded young woman that set him on edge, making him far more nervous than the other three competitors so far.

Melina Vostokoff reminded Steve of Natasha Romanoff, a thought that sent shivers up and down his spine. Anyone who made him think of the notorious Black Widow was someone to fear. He thought the competitors couldn’t get any worse, until the male tribute for District Three was called out.

The anguished wail Gwen let out beside him tore through his heart, and before Steve even realized it he had his arms around her, trying to comfort her to the best of his ability. He never would be able to, the ache in his heart reminded him painfully. He could never bring her back from this torment. Steve felt Gwen’s pain in his chest as if it was his own, keen to forget that only a year ago he had let out that very same cry of pain and horror.

It would be hours before Gwen would finally cry herself to sleep, and Steve would make his way to his own quarters, ignoring Peggy and Phillips. It would be hours before Steve would force himself to watch the pale Peter Parker make his way to the stage, looking like he would be sick at any moment. Steve would only spare a second to wonder what Peter’s reaction would be when he saw Gwen take the stage herself. Somehow Steve didn’t imagine Melina would be too welcoming to any sort of weakness. It would be hours before Steve would watch all of the tributes take the stage, hours before he would fall into an uneasy sleep with their names circling his brain, his imagination taking the liberty to envision the trials that would await him.

It would be hours before the nightmare truly began, and so Steve lost himself in the moment, hugging Gwen tight, and pretending for both their sakes, that everything would be alright.

* * *

 

_“I wish we didn’t have to go back.”_

_Steve glared sharply at his best friend, before craning his neck, making sure no one else had heard the petulant words escape Bucky’s lips. He didn’t want to think about the beatings his friend would receive if they had._

_“You can’t say things like that!” Steve hissed at the other boy, gritting his teeth when he saw Bucky roll his eyes. His friend had been growing moodier and moodier lately, and Steve was afraid it was going to get him in trouble sooner or later._

_Not that Steven Grant Rogers was one to talk about getting into trouble. But at least he had the common sense not to complain on Reaping Day, when traveling on a high speed train. The two boys were sitting with their legs dangling over the edge. The other boys their age were seated further away from the open doors, but Steve and Bucky liked the view. It made Steve’s fingers itch for a piece of charcoal, though he doubted he would ever be able to capture the blur of the moving landscape._

_Every Reaping Day, he always wondered what it was like for other Districts. He wondered if school was cancelled, if it were some sort of holiday. He wondered what school was even like in other Districts. He somehow doubted it involved jumping on and off trains at high speeds, but District Six never claimed to be normal._

_Steve wasn’t really sure what normal was in the first place._

_“But it’s true.” Bucky insisted stubbornly, his clear blue-grey eyes meeting Steve’s, giving him pause for a moment - just a moment. More than the charcoal he longed for some of those colors, the expensive ones. He wanted to paint Bucky’s eyes, the blue depths he could easily lose himself to. His best friend was perfect, and Steve would never be able to capture that on a piece of paper, but certainly not without the color of his eyes._

_“It doesn’t matter if it’s true or not.” Steve said with a sigh, forcing himself to look away from Bucky’s heavy stare. There would never be a time when he wasn’t drawn to his best friend like a magnet. “It’s home. Reaping Day or not.”_

_Bucky’s face instantly darkened, and Steve cursed himself for bringing up the damned subject in the first place. Reaping Day was never a pleasant topic of conversation, especially not for boys who were growing old enough to not only fear it blindly, but hate it and everything it stood for. And even Steve, tiny little Steve with the bony fists that flew everywhere and the temper that went off at the slightest perceived insult, knew better than to challenge the life they lived. He hated bullies, and he hated the Capitol most of all, but despite what everyone said about him, he knew better than to get into a fight like this._

_At least not now, not when he still had something to lose._

_Bumping Bucky’s shoulder with his own, Steve tried to bring some humor back into the situation. “C’mon, it’s not like you’ll get chosen anyways. And even if you do, all you’ll have to do is show your ugly mug and you’ll have all the other tributes turning away because they don’t want to look at you another second.”_

_Bucky shoved him back with a laugh, hard enough to catch the attention of their supervisor, who immediately yelled at the two boys for roughhousing near the edge of the train. But, Steve decided later as he rubbed his ear, still sore from the boxing he received, just about anything was worth seeing that smile on Bucky’s face._

**Author's Note:**

> This work is unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. I do not own rights to any recognizable material from Marvel or The Hunger Games. Title is Latin for "your death, my life".
> 
> If you liked this, or have any feedback or suggestions, please let me know! I'm really enjoying this verse, and I hope my readers do as well!


End file.
